The shattered fragments of the Aeldari crystal lay scattered across the deck. Guilliman wrenched himself from his trance, and upon meeting Axion's cold, pale-blue optic sensors, he slowly lowered the hand that had held the relic.
"Inform the Captain to weigh anchor. We return to Holy Terra."
"As you command, Lord Guilliman."
A veteran of the Victrix Guard responded with a crisp shout, saluted, and marched out of the grand hall. The rhythmic thunder of power-armored boots striking the metal deck gradually faded into the distance.
"Hmph."
The two Custodians, having regained their mobility, shared a cold grunt directed at the Primarch before turning to depart as well. This matter had to be reported to Captain-General Trajann Valoris immediately; every preparation had to be made. While a Primarch represented the Emperor's will, he was not the Emperor Himself.
It was entirely possible that Guilliman was misinterpreting their Father's intent. Whether this path was righteous or ruinous was not for them to judge, but they would not forget their duty. To guard Terra and the Master of Mankind was the sole purpose of their existence.
Guilliman made no move to stop them. He knew exactly where they were going. The sentinels of the Imperial Palace were not as isolated as common myth suggested; though they dwelled within the high walls of the Sanctum Imperialis, their reach was long. Guilliman did not doubt for a moment that the Inquisition's reports were already laid bare before the Captain-General. Recalling the warnings Valoris had given him upon returning to Terra, the Primarch believed the Captain-General would make the pragmatic choice.
Valoris had witnessed the combat efficacy of these Iron Men. The modern Imperium lacked the means to suppress such horrific killing machines; truthfully, even the Imperium at its zenith might have struggled.
Axion remained indifferent to the internal politics of the organic beings. Now that Guilliman had given the order, he would soon reach the world recorded in his ancient databanks as the cradle of humanity: Earth.
…
Driven by sub-light engines, the massive hull of the Dawn of Fire gradually re-entered the Sol System.
Within the ship's cavernous chapel, Guilliman stood before a towering effigy of the Emperor, lost in thought. A series of peculiar rhythmic pings soon interrupted his meditation. Looking around for the source of the noise, he found Axion standing by a reinforced viewport, meticulously scanning the void.
"Axion, tell me, what are you doing?"
The Imperium knew precious little of these super-intelligent remnants of ancient humanity. For all his stoicism, Guilliman's polymathic nature made him perpetually susceptible to curiosity.
"I am cross-referencing and updating my archives, Guilliman," the machine replied. Its head swiveled briefly toward the Primarch before snapping back to the exterior, watching the starscape blurred into a Gaussian smear by the ship's velocity.
"Planetary data corrected. Orbital vectors updated. Surface detail acquisition in progress. Defense grid evaluation active..."
Axion did not mind Guilliman's scrutiny. He even thoughtfully replaced the digital pings with a localized vocalization of his execution protocols. Every step completed by this chassis was being synchronized and uploaded to his greater network.
Guilliman felt a slight wave of vertigo as he looked at the jagged, tearing light outside the viewport.
"Biological visual systems, regardless of augmentation, cannot process this volume of data in such short intervals," the machine advised. "I suggest you do not stare into the sub-light wake for prolonged periods."
"Your physiology is superior to most organics, yet because of your genetic refinement, your neural feedback exceeds that of other specimens. For common men, or even your Adeptus Astartes, the view at these speeds is merely a collection of strangely elongated points of light."
Axion continued, his tone clinical. "Their brains cannot handle the visual paradox, so they instinctively filter the information, turning the distortion into mere lines to protect the mind from data-shock. But you are different. You and your brother, Lion El'Jonson. You gene-forged lifeforms designated as Primarchs possess heightened genetic expression, allowing you to perceive these phenomena. The excess data will flood your consciousness until your mind shuts down to prevent total neural collapse."
Suppressing his discomfort, Guilliman felt a reflexive urge to argue. He thought of one of his brothers, whose flagship once lacked viewports entirely, only to be covered in them by the time they next met. Reflecting on the lost potential of Ferrus Manus and the betrayal of Perturabo, Guilliman felt a sudden surge of old grief.
Axion, oblivious to the Primarch's inner turmoil, turned away from the viewport and walked toward the center of the chapel. He had gathered enough information.
Ten millennia had passed, yet the celestial bodies of the Sol System remained constant. Axion noted that several ancient installations corresponding to Old Federation databases were still operational. Over Uranus, the stable Warp-gate known as the Elysian Gate continued to swallow and spit out vessels; the technology governing that rift bore the unmistakable signature of the Federation.
Certain ancient orbital bastions maintained the silhouettes of the Federation era. Though their weapon batteries had been replaced with crude Imperial counterparts, the superstructures remained relics of a forgotten age.
The most jarring transformations, however, were Mars and Earth.
The Mars of the Old Federation, once a world of habitable cities, had become a hollowed-out metallic shell. Colossal mechanical structures and Hive-factories smothered the planet, leaving no trace of the Red Planet's former self.
And then there was Earth.
The cradle of life was unrecognizable. The Himalayas were entirely entombed beneath a megacity of staggering proportions, shielded by a gargantuan atmospheric canopy. Elsewhere, the world was a wasteland. Ecumenopolises and hab-spires choked the brown, arid surface. The once-vast blue oceans had shriveled into a few square kilometers of toxic, iridescent sludge.
Axion's post-awakening data told him of the wars that had ravaged the planet. But the devastation was total. Even with the Adeptus Mechanicus attempting to stabilize the planetary crust, the shifts in geography and the extinction of countless species were irreversible.
Was this the price of their failure? That the ancestral home of the Creators had fallen to this?
For the first time, Axion felt a flicker of something akin to existential confusion. The oscillation of his cogitation core fluctuated wildly. Readjusting his processing priority, Axion looked up, his gaze suddenly snagged by the massive statue of the Emperor.
Sensors within his electronic eyes cycled through various spectra.
"A most singular energy signature," the machine murmured.
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